


The Prize

by KendylGirl



Series: The Alchemy of Butterflies [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Boys In Love, Commitment, Fluffy with a side of very light angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: The 2018 Hollywood Film Awards ends with an unavoidable decision about an undeniable fact.





	The Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Voluminous images of the evening made this little behind-the-scenes story something my mind could not deny. I'm not practiced with the world of RPF, however, so I'm anxious to know if you like this or not!
> 
> My undying thanks to Willowbrooke for her inspiration and encouragement!

I can hear him humming, but I don’t know the song.  The house is never this quiet.  But she is gone, really _gone_.  The incessant arguments are over, the blood cleaned from the vicious blade of her tongue; the last of her things finally have been taken away on a parting sneer and a flipped middle finger.  With her out and bound for Europe five miles above the Atlantic and the kids spending the week at their grandmother's, the peace here is profound.  In the midst of it, the soft lilt of his voice echoes down the short hallway from one room to the other.I roll around onto my stomach on the disheveled mattress, the fitted sheet still bunched on one side, the top sheet and cover heaped on the floor.I stuff my face into the pillow and shove my hands beneath it, pressing its folds around my smile.It smells like him, the fancy shampoo that he insists on buying from some salon in New York, the one he swears is the only thing that will tame his curls.

I don’t want them tame.I don’t want anything between us to be tame. 

I could sleep easily right now.I shift my hips and savor the ache in my lower back.I still feel the hot gusts against my neck, his breath enough to scorch me permanently.

_Arm…God…you can’t…what’re you… I…too heavy…for…for you to…_

But his hands had scrubbed through my hair the entire time, and when I squeezed his ass and held him tighter to me, his legs had clenched around my waist, little hiccups of air bubbling from his throat as I marched us up the stairs, until he’d raised his head and leaned back against my hands spread across his shoulder blades, a deep groan vibrating down the taut lines of his tendons, directly into my groin.

We barely made it down the hall to the bedroom.

When I tipped us over and he bounced on the mattress, eyes dark as the inside of my chest, the apple of his throat sinking and climbing, sinking and climbing, I opened my mouth to tell him.I had to tell him everything.

_I have missed you._

_Where have you been?_

_I need you._

_You’re perfect._

_I can’t watch that movie and see you in pain._

_Those pictures of you kissing someone else tore me in half._

_I love you._

_None of this shit matters without you._

But he grabbed the waistband of my pants and pulled me down on top of him, on top of his undulating body, his hard and insistent limbs that tore at my clothes and kneaded my skin, breath hot against my cheek, my neck.“I know, I _know_ ,” he had hissed in my ear.“Just show me.Show me everything. _Please_.”

I had not forgotten a thing.I had not forgotten what his skin tastes like, how it glows even in a darkened room, how it slides smooth against mine and combs the hair on my body when it is covered in sweat.I had not forgotten the little noises he makes when I kiss his eyelids and pull his earlobe into my mouth; when I wrap a hand around half of his ribcage and try to meld it to mine, my fingers sunken into the valley of his spine and my thumb dancing around a nipple.I had not forgotten how he pulls my tongue into his mouth with his own, how like gravity his every orifice pulls part of me into it.How he growls, “Fuck me,” against my cheek like a feral animal, then kisses the same spot with tenderness, like an angel.How I want to cry when I am finally inside him, how that’s the only time I am truly content, the only time I am safe and happy and home.

On most days, these are the only things I can remember.

I push myself up and follow the music around the corner to the bathroom.I lean against the door frame in the humid air and watch him at the sink, clothed in nothing but the thick towel wrapped around his waist, head tipped to the side, dragging a razor along his jawbone.He rinses the blade under a jet of water and taps it against the basin.The tune trails off when he grabs the hand towel to swath at his skin and our eyes meet in the mirror.I do nothing to change my expression; I let him see it all over my face, let him soak it into every pore of his body.

_I want this._

_You belong here._

_Let me have this with you._

His gaze lingers, and even though half of his face is buried in the folds of the towel, I can see his thoughts as they spin through the lenses of his eyes, watch them transform from flip humor to wary doubt to fragile hope, all in the space of seconds.

He breaks the line, rubs the towel around his head and through his wet hair a few times, spiking it in all directions.He turns and pads over to me until he has to raise his head to look me in the eye.He knows I love that, and I cannot stop myself from reaching out with heavy hands and wrapping them around his neck, wrists resting on his shoulders, gently stroking my thumbs up either side of his windpipe.“When’s your car getting here?”

“About twenty minutes.”

I nod, thumbs still moving, fingers twitching into the hair at the nape of his neck.“I’ll be about a half-hour behind you.”

“This is so stupid.We should just go together.”

My mouth hitches up at the corner.“The games people play in this town…they are all so…”

I just shrug, and his eyes seem to turn down further at the corners.“Yeah.Yeah, I know.”

“Hey.”One of my hands draws back, the thumb brushing up his cheek, pushing his eye up to where it sits when he’s laughing.“Did you forget something, Mr. Chalamet?”

His eyebrows flick together.

My voice drops low.“When I play games, I play to win.”

His hands float up to lay against my wrists, and he squeezes them gently.“I’ve got to get dressed.”One hand slides to my neck and traces the splotch of sensitive purple, the dark bruise that is already around the entire side of my neck.“What are _you_ going to wear?”There’s a ghost of a smile in the curves of his pink lips.

I twist my head slightly so that he can see the extent of what he’s done.“You mean I can’t wear that v-neck sweater you picked out?How come?You don’t think anyone’s gonna notice this, do you?”

It wins me a real laugh, a return of the sparkle to his eyes.

“No worries.I’ll think of something.”

 

* * *

 

We are seated together in the middle of the room, tiered tables around the small stage.It’s too bright and too noisy and too warm in here, and I am suffocating in this get-up.But it had been worth it to see the way his face softened when I first arrived.He knows I hate turtlenecks and how I think they make me look like I’m a pipe away from imitating some dime-store psychologist.As I had swiped at the sweat on my forehead, he'd winced and mouthed  _Sorry_ from the other end of the red carpet.

As the opening speeches roll on, I glance over at him.He hates doing this, getting up on a stage as only himself, exposing his soft jugular to a room full of wolves.His left leg is jiggling uncontrollably.The pages of his speech are crinkled, and his sweaty palms have started to smear the ink.I keep my face impassive, directed toward the stage where a presenter is announcing Felix’s name, and move my leg just enough so that we’re touching knee to ankle.I hear him suck in a breath and exhale slowly.The jiggling eases, and in my peripheral vision, I see his shoulders drop away from his ears, see him sit forward in his chair.By the time I glance back at him again, he’s watching the stage with a smile.

When it was our turn, I am not sure what I said to introduce him, whatever the prompter had scrolled out for me to say.I’m sure it was nice.But the whole time I was distracted by him in the wings, vibrating with his usual energy, clutching his white paper in a death grip.When I finally said his name, he stalked out to join me, and I didn’t care that they told us to keep it short. _Just a pat on the back, then step away_.Fuck them.I held my arms out and pulled him into me.It couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, a few ticks of time for him to press against my chest and breathe my own name into my ear, like he was settling his mind with it, like he was _thanking_ me, like he was asking permission for something he feared I would not want.

I stepped back and dug my hands into my pockets to listen, dug my nails into the tops of my thighs to keep them still, to keep me from returning to the podium and bending him backward in a kiss that he would feel on his mouth for the next week.I did what everyone does when he shines this intensely—I adored the cadence of his voice, I laughed along with his stumbling narrative, I marveled that someone with so true a heart is real, I coveted every bit of his perfection.

I fell in love with him all over again.

When the applause erupts and he steps away from the microphone, he looks over at me and grins, pure and guileless. _Joy_.That’s the only word for it, the only word for him.I motion with my head, and he comes over so we can exit on the same side as the rest of the stage fills up with people preparing for the next award.I stop him with one hand on his forearm, and he leans in so I can whisper to him.

“I’m done being without you.”

His head ticks up so his eyes, wide glittering emeralds, connect with mine.I stare back, hard. 

A stagehand ushers him past, and I follow a few paces behind.While he’s swept into a press room, I crack open a bottle of Perrier and listen to the feed from the stage.My heart is beating wildly.I chat with an older woman, a script editor, and chuckle at her stories of nightmare directors and the studio idiots who hire them.It passes the time amiably until the presentations are done and the party begins.

In the sea of bodies in the aftermath, I hear various calls of my name, photographers and the like, but I don’t look until I hear the one voice I’ve been waiting for.He’s across the room, and his eyes plead with me.I sweep out my phone for a quick call and then snake my way through the crowd until we finally meet in the middle.

He’s breathless, cheeks flushed with excitement and champagne.His eyes circle my face before he huffs a laugh.“You mean it, don’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question, but I answer anyway.“I always have.”

His fingers crawl into my palm, and my hand closes automatically around them.“So have I.Always.”He bites his bottom lip.“So, now what?”

I tilt my head toward the street where the car I’ve summoned has just pulled up to the curb.“Come on, let’s get out of here.We’ve got some calls to make.”

He nods soberly.“Right.Yeah, ok.”

My arm slides around his shoulders.“Ah, that’s for _tomorrow_ , Tim.”

“Yeah?”His flush deepens, and his eyes fall to my mouth.“What’s for tonight?”

I lick my lips and stare at the unblemished white canvas of his throat.“Payback.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been good enough to read this, please take pity on me and let me know what you think!


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